


Greenleaf and Imladris Redux - Finale: Just Rewards

by Eressë (eresse21)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, Gen, M/M, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be careful of what you wish for. In Valinor, you’re likely to get it. A sequel to <b><i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/68466">Greenleaf and Imladris</a></i></b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Act - Staggered Mates

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> Be warned: This story features Mpreg. It is a tongue-in-cheek, take-it-or-leave-it tale written on a whim and solely for the fun of it. If this isn’t your cup of tea, go no further. But if you do give this story a look-see, I hope you’ll read it in the same spirit as it was written.

Artirion, _Sulimë_ F.A. 235  
“Legolas, you are eating like—pardon the expression—a Hobbit,” Elrohir admonished even as he darted an apologetic look at the three Halflings present. “Should you not desist a little?”

Legolas glared at him and swallowed his mouthful of food with as much grace as was possible given that he wanted to make a reply in a hurry. “I cannot help it if I am hungry,” he said. “Besides, what is wrong with a healthy appetite?”

“Nothing except that you have never been so voracious in all the time I have known you as you have been this past month.”

“So I have turned into a glutton for now. I see nothing wrong with an occasional indulgence.”

Elrohir shook his head. “But last month you would hardly eat anything. Now you are eating as if there is no tomorrow. _Ada_ ”—Papa—“do you not think there is something that ails him?”

Elrond smiled at his younger son’s plea. It was not unusual for Elrohir to be so protective of Legolas. The prince had come through much anguish in the preceding years before Elrohir’s reborn spirit had manifested itself in full. 

“Perhaps I should examine you, Legolas,” the master healer suggested. “Elrohir’s concern is valid. Going from no appetite to too much is unusual.”

“But I am not ill!” Legolas protested. “Surely nobody falls ill in the Blessed Realm.”

“I did not say you are ill. But if it will put Elrohir’s mind at ease, a brief examination will do no harm,” Elrond reasoned. “You may finish your meal before I proceed, of course,” he hastened to add at the mutinous light in the other Elf’s eyes.

Elrond heard a pair of resigned sighs at his side and forbore to grin. Thranduil and Ithilwen knew their youngest son’s independent spirit all too well but it did not mean they had ever got used to it. He cast his eyes upon his own two sons and mused that he was in no position to be smug with Taur Galen’s king and queen. 

Thank the Powers that Elladan had chosen such a sweet and biddable Elf maid as Nimeithel for his wife. Then again, Elrond considered ruefully, there had been a time the only daughter of Greenwood’s king had shown herself capable of being as spirited and mule-headed as her brother, husband and law-brother. It seemed he and Thranduil were doomed to share the common fate of fathers blessed with such fiercely stubborn children. 

They were gathered in Elrond and Celebrían’s home to honor the New Year as celebrated in the reckoning of the kingdom of Gondor. Though long separated from the Hither Lands, they never failed to commemorate the events that had freed Middle-earth from its last great peril, events in which they had labored long and hard.

The gathering was intimate as usual with only the immediate families and close friends of Elrond and Thranduil present and a few special guests—one Dwarf, three Hobbits and an erstwhile wizard. Galadriel and Celeborn had sent their regrets that they would not be able to join the group this evening. 

The Dwarf had not changed in his taste for fine wine and the Hobbits in their fondness for good food. It was to this latter trait that Elrohir had compared Legolas’ unusually hearty appetite.

After the meal, Elrond rose and gestured to Legolas to come with him. “Come, I will be quick about it,” he soothed as the archer pursed his mouth in reluctance.

He led the younger Elf to a couch where he could recline and Elrond could examine him easily. Thranduil and Ithilwen retired to a nearby bench with Celebrían while Elrohir sat himself on the edge of the couch. Gimli, Bilbo, Frodo, and Samwise continued to chat with Elladan, Nimeithel and Glorfindel while they awaited the results and Elladan’s twin sons, Elros and Elendir, watched a well-contested game of Strategy between Erestor and Lindir. 

A few minutes later, Elrond straightened and turned around. His expression was so peculiar, so unlike the dignified Lord of Artirion, that chatter soon died down and everyone began to look at him with expectation.

“Elrond, what is it?” Thranduil anxiously asked. “Is there something wrong with Legolas?” He glanced at his son who had risen to a sitting position and was now looking at Elrond warily.

Elrond started as if he had been suddenly roused from a dream. “Wrong?” he muttered. “Well, nay. That is it should not be except that…” He trailed off and glanced back at Legolas, his expression becoming even more incredulous than ever. “Mithrandir…” he faintly said.

“Yes, what is it?” the wizard asked curiously.

“ _Ada_ , what is wrong?” Elrohir exclaimed.

The Istar came forward and shook Elrond’s shoulder. “Elrond, I have never seen you so at a loss for words,” he remarked. “Tell us now, what ails Legolas?”

“What? Oh, of course.” Elrond blinked and faced Legolas and Elrohir. He was seen to inhale deeply before speaking.

“Legolas, I have the—er—pleasure to inform you that you are—er...” Elrond hesitated then continued even more faintly than before. “...with child.”

Silence descended upon the hall. Legolas and Elrohir stared at the healer with wide eyes and open mouths. Indeed, it was the common expression on every face present though the Halflings probably had the biggest eyes and Gimli the most gaping mouth of all.

Legolas sucked his breath in sharply. “I—am—with— _what_?” he said very slowly.

Elrond swallowed hard. “With, er, child,” he repeated.

He winced as he heard the collapse of bodies behind him. A quick glance showed him the Hobbits fainting one by one and falling in a heap on top of the Dwarf who had been the first to go. Elladan and Glorfindel caught a swooning Nimeithel, both Elves looking rather pasty at the moment as well. Further back, the Strategy board was upended as Erestor and Lindir lurched in shock to their feet and the twins stared with open-mouthed incredulity at their uncles. Elrond heard a moan and saw that Thranduil was now holding his newly unconscious wife whom Celebrían was vigorously fanning. Both Thranduil and Celebrían had lost a fair amount of color, he absently noted. 

“With child, eh?” Gandalf muttered distractedly beside him. “Very ... interesting.” The wizard did not look too spry himself.

“Interesting?” Legolas gasped. “ _Interesting?_ ” He began to breathe deeply and rapidly. Elrohir hastily rubbed his back in an effort to calm him down. “How can I be with child?” Legolas demanded, glaring at Elrond. “I am no female Elf! There must be a mistake!”

Elrond glared back at him. “I do not make mistakes in these matters, Thranduilion!” he said frigidly, the attack on his learning and skills snapping him out of his daze. “You are _two_ months with child!”

Legolas shuddered with shock and fell back into Elrohir’s supportive embrace. “How can this be?” he whispered in agitation. “‘Tis not possible.”

He suddenly stiffened and drew away from the raven-haired Elf. When he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Elrohir, the latter felt unaccountably nervous. 

“Elrohir, while you waited in the Halls of Mandos, did you by any chance pray for something else besides being released soonest?” he asked in an ominously soft voice.

Elrohir stiffened, started to object, then stopped and blanched. “Elbereth! I did not think it would be granted,” he choked.

The still conscious members of the gathering stared at him. Legolas pinned him with an icy blue gaze. “ _What_ would be granted?” he pressed.

Elrohir gulped. “Námo asked me if there was anything I desired before he released me. I-I remember saying that I wished you and I could have children of our own.” He gasped and grabbed Legolas by the wrist when the other looked about to punch him. “Legolas, I swear I never expected that the Valar would actually grant me such a wish! I mean, would you?”

Legolas growled, “And did you also wish that I be the one to carry the child?”

Elrohir protested: “Why would I wish that when I never expected anything to be granted? Be reasonable, Calenlass.”

“Reasonable?!” The golden-haired archer looked to be on the verge of a hysterical outburst. “You want me to be reasonable?! Elrohir, I am going to have a child! I, an _ellon_! I would like to know what is reasonable about my condition! Indeed, I would like to know how I’m supposed to deal with this insane situation!”

Elrohir opened his mouth to retort then shut it once more and stared at the other Elf. Around them those who had swooned were beginning to regain their wits. Legolas was taken aback by the sudden change in Elrohir’s eyes. Shock and disbelief had transformed into joy and awe. 

“For a start, you could be happy that you are going to have a child,” he said softly. “ _Our_ child.”

Legolas gaped at him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up into Gandalf’s compassionate eyes. “Elrohir is right,” he smiled. “If the Valar chose to bless you both with a babe in this manner, who are we to question their will?”

Legolas let his breath out. He looked around him and saw that everyone was watching him. From the fascinated if still shocked expressions of the Hobbits and Gimli’s vain attempts to appear composed after having fainted in so un-Dwarvish a manner to the amazement and awe of Elrohir’s family and Glorfindel, Erestor and Lindir and the obvious struggle between disbelief and anticipation of his own parents and sister, there could be no mistaking that they all shared one emotion. Joy.

He glanced at Elrohir who was still looking at him with aching tenderness. He finally managed a small smile. “I will need _Naneth_ and Nimeithel’s help,” he said after drawing another deep breath. “I have no idea what to do...” He looked at Ithilwen helplessly. 

The good lady had collected her wits about her and rose to go to her son. She took his hand and said, “Of course, we will help you, _mellind_ ”—dear heart—she soothed him. “Indeed, though we were naturally shocked, now that we have recovered from the surprise, I must say that your father and I are looking forward to having a grandchild by you. Do you not agree, my husband?”

Thranduil managed to strangle a groan and could only nod his head weakly. Elrond had to grin then. “Ah, Thranduil. Is it not wonderful that you and I shall have yet another grandchild in common? Imagine a little Elf with my Elrohir’s stubbornness and your Legolas’s independent spirit. A fascinating combination, is it not?”

Thranduil did not stifle his groan this time nor did he spare Elrond a murderous glare to the amusement of all.

*********************  
Glossary:  
Sulimë - Quenya for March  
Calenlass - Greenleaf  
ellon – male Elf  
Naneth - Mother

_To be continued…_


	2. Interlude - Rough Going

Taur Galen, _Lotessë_ F.A. 235  
“ _Muindor!_ How fares our golden prince?”

Elrohir all but scowled at his twin’s greeting. At Nimeithel’s behest, Elladan had agreed to move to Taur Galen for the duration of Legolas’s unexpected, indeed thoroughly shocking condition. While his wife and law-mother fussed over the archer, Elladan had set himself to consoling his oft-beleaguered brother. 

It was still early in the day and Elrohir was on the porch going over a list of requisitions drawn up by his steward when Elladan came sauntering down the shaded walk. 

“Not too well,” Elrohir replied tartly. “Need you ask?”

Elladan looked at his twin sympathetically. “Sick again, I dare say?” he murmured.

Elrohir heaved a frustrated sigh. “And as black of mood as a Troll on a diet of meatless bones!” he burst out as they entered the house. “I slept in a guest chamber last night rather than bear an endless litany of my failings!”

Elladan whistled. “Fie, he is even worse than Nimeithel ever was,” he remarked.

Elrohir shook his head. “I cannot fault him for this. Legolas has never been sick in all his days. To now empty his bowels every morn and find himself beset by fainting spells now and then is embarrassing to say the least.” He gazed wistfully at Elladan. “Would that I had never made that ridiculous wish!”

Elladan draped his arm around his twin’s drooping shoulders. “As you said, you could hardly have known it would be granted.”

“The Valar have a questionable sense of humor if this is a sample of it!” Elrohir said somewhat sourly. “And here I had thought myself free of the travails of an expectant wife.”

Elladan looked at him wonderingly. “If you did not wish to shoulder such a problem, why in Aman did you wish for children? It isn’t as if you did not know you could not have them without enduring the other.”

Elrohir pursed his lips. “Because I knew Legolas wanted them,” he growled.

Elladan stared at him. “Legolas wanted—”

He was cut off by a plaintive cry from above. “Elrohir!”

The Elf-knight abruptly left his brother in the middle of his sentence and the main hall as he sped up the stairs to his bedchamber. Elladan stared after him then sighed and shook his head.

It had been like this from the start. Legolas had always been a recalcitrant patient. He was even worse now that he was in this most unlooked for and certainly unprecedented position. Aye, one had to wonder about the Valar’s sense of humor. At least from the pair’s shared point of view, it was not particularly funny! 

A few hours later, Nimeithel came along to see how Legolas was doing. She came upon him reclining on the lounging chair in the back porch, morosely viewing the garden behind the house. With an understanding smile, she sank down on the edge of the chair and reached out to tuck a stray strand of silver-gold behind his ear. It was apparent her brother had not even had the energy to plait his hair. Or the forbearance to have Elrohir do it for him.

“I take it you had an unpleasant morning?” she ventured.

Legolas snorted. “Unpleasant does not begin to describe it,” he snipped. “Horrendous would be nearer the mark.”

“What ailed you? Aside from the usual sickness?”

Legolas scowled. “I could not stand the scent of our soap!” he huffed. “I entered the bathing chamber and retched just from the odor of it. ‘Tis a fortunate thing I had nothing left to empty out of my wretched belly else our bath would have been a horrid mess.”

Nimeithel bit her lip to keep from giggling. “I suppose Elrohir is searching this very minute for a suitable replacement?” she murmured. “One that will not offend your nostrils?”

“Aye,” Legolas admitted. “Though Elbereth only knows what I can endure.” He glared at his sister. “How long does this confounded problem last, _muinthel_?”—sister.

Nimeithel shrugged, coolly ignoring his piercing stare. “It is not the same for all. I only suffered this for the first half of my pregnancy. But _Nana_ told me she experienced sickness and extreme sensitivity to scents for the whole of her term when she carried Brethildor.”

Legolas looked at her in horror. “Valar! The whole of it?” he groaned. “I will not last that long!”

Nimeithel regarded him thoughtfully. “So you said when you lost Elrohir,” she mildly reproached him. “Yet I hear you treat him as little more than a lackey when the sickness overtakes you.”

Legolas had the grace to flush at the gentle reprimand. “‘Tis not I who made such an outrageous wish,” he said defensively.

“One wish of two,” she pointed out. “The other restored him to you afore his time. This one—” She folded her arms in the manner of a teacher lecturing a intractable student. “Are you so displeased with your situation that you would forego this unheard of chance to have a family with him?”

Legolas stared at her. At length, he shook his head. “If I am fractious with him, ‘tis not because I love him less or care not to beget children with him,” he sighed. “‘Tis only that I am sore at heart at having to bear this ... this humiliation.”

Nimeithel clucked chidingly at him. “I do not recall any of the women who have brought forth children referring to their lot in life as humiliating,” she said.

“Forgive me, that is not what I meant,” Legolas hastened to say. “But I am no woman, Nimeithel. Not even an _ellon_ who has spent his days within the confines of a house and naught else. I have lived a warrior’s life all my years and know nothing of such domestic matters. And I cringe at the thought of others ogling me as if I were some odd creature sprung from Sauron’s lairs. Even now...” He looked down unhappily at his no longer trim waist and taut belly. “When I venture forth, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me and it–it smites me to the core! I cannot bear their amusement or pity.”

It was Nimeithel’s turn to stare at him. “Amusement? Pity?” she gasped. “Is that what you thought they regard you with? Ai, Legolas, there is none who sees you as anything less than the most wondrous miracle to have yet graced Aman.” At his startled reaction, she nodded vigorously. “Believe me when I say that all Elfdom is awaiting the outcome of this blessing with bated breath. And many with not a little envy.”

“Envy?” Legolas repeated incredulously.

“But of course,” his sister retorted. “How many couples have no little ones to brighten their lives? And I do not speak only of couples of the same kind. Nay, brother, you have been chosen to receive this gift. Why, only the Valar know, but ‘tis a gift no matter the circumstances of its bestowing.”

Legolas gazed at her in wonderment. “You are grown eloquent, _thel neth_ ”—young sister—he murmured after a while, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Nimeithel grinned. “I am only so happy for you,” she said. “But not so felicitous for Elrohir if he must bear what you subject him to.” She grinned even more widely at Legolas’s frustrated sigh. “I do not expect you to behave so sweetly throughout toward him. Your condition will not allow you to. Elbereth knows how unruly _my_ tongue was when I carried my sons. Elladan can relate to you the variety of curses he never thought me capable of uttering!” 

Legolas laughed, remembering the older twin’s troubles during those calamitous months when his ordinarily mild-tempered wife had turned into a veritable shrew. He suddenly shuddered. Eru forbid, but he was bidding fair to turn into one himself!

“I will do my utmost to curb my temper,” he said. “But I cannot promise that I will always succeed.”

His sister chuckled. “No one expects that of you,” she said. “But it will hearten Elrohir were you to treat him with some tenderness.”

The talk with Nimeithel bore fruit that very night when Elrohir walked into their bedchamber with the expression of one who expected a tongue-lashing and found a biddable spouse awaiting him in bed instead. He gazed at Legolas uncertainly. 

After their unusually quiet evening meal, he had escaped to the royal pavilion and sought Elladan’s company for a spell to fortify him for what he thought would surely follow. Legolas’s silence during dinner surely did not bode well. Again. His warrior’s instincts urged him to lash back at his oft-unreasonable mate but his ever-calming reason reminded him why he could not. As such, he was seldom at peace and almost always in a pother. A pother he could not show the archer.

Now he eyed said archer warily, wondering what new charge he would bring against him. To his surprise, Legolas only reached out an inviting hand. Unsure whether it was safe to feel relieved, he joined his mate in bed.

“Am I rendered so unbeautiful that you no longer seek my company?” the prince murmured, laying his head on the Elf-knight’s shoulder.

Elrohir started then stared at him. “Of course not!” he objected. “Where in Arda did you get that notion?”

Legolas sighed. “My perceptions,” he admitted.

“Of what, Calenlass?” 

Mindful of his sister’s admonishment, Legolas repeated to his darkling spouse what he had thought was the general opinion of Elves regarding his admittedly bizarre condition. Immediately, Elrohir was up in arms over the prince’s confession.

“Who has dared to treat you thus?” he demanded. “They will know my steel for demeaning you so!”

A thrill of delight coursed through Legolas’s body at his mate’s reaction. His heart and soul soothed by so instant and vocal an expression of his Elf-knight’s affection, he laughed and ardently kissed his startled spouse.

“Nay, none has done so,” he assured the warrior. “Save in my foolish imaginings.” He pressed another kiss to the Elvenlord’s sinuous lips. He drew back to find the response he sought. The pewter eyes were darkly glittering and a hand had made its way to grasp him by the hip and pull him closer. “Now, I should very much like to be convinced that you still find me to your liking. Despite my expanding girth.”

He said no more. Indeed, he could not have uttered a word. Not when the Elf-knight kept his mouth and other sundry body parts wholly and most effectively occupied for the rest of the evening.

*******************  
Glossary:  
Lotessë – Quenya for May  
muindor – brother  
Calenlass – Greenleaf 

_To be continued…_


	3. Second Act - Beleaguered Begetters

Tirion, _Cermië_  
“Have you given thought to whether you are carrying a maid-child or a male, Legolas?”

Gimli’s idly asked question had the power to abash the woodland archer. Legolas waited for the burning in his cheeks to subside before replying. He scowled in disgust. He seemed to do naught but that nowadays if ever a reference was made to his interesting condition.

“Nay, I have not,” he admitted. “‘Tis all I can do to keep my wits around me just carrying this child without wondering if I will have a son or daughter.”

“Or both,” Gimli mused. At Legolas’s dismayed expression, the Dwarf mildly pointed out: “Considering the history of Elrohir’s family, the chances of you having twins is not an impossibility, but in fact a probability.”

“Eru forbid!” Legolas groaned even as he shuddered at the thought. “I cannot even imagine bringing forth one child, let alone two. Elbereth have pity on me!”

A contrite Gimli patted his friend’s arm comfortingly. It was not good to discomfit the Elf-prince any more than he was already. 

The two were walking about the fountain-bedecked gardens behind Finarfin’s halls in Tirion. Legolas and Elrohir had gone to Artirion for a fortnight that Elrond might see for himself how archer and anticipated grandchild were doing. Elladan and Nimeithel had come along, glad to rejoin their sons for a spell. 

This morn, Elrohir and Elladan had accompanied their mother Celebrían when she went to pay a call on the Noldor’s king, her grandsire. They had persuaded Legolas to join them, as well as Gimli who had come by Elrond’s halls for a visit. 

Legolas had been less than cheerful during the journey to Artirion and this short trip to the city for he had been forced to ride with Elrohir. Since a month ago, the warrior had adamantly refused to let him ride his spirited mount and, to the prince’s dismay, every healer, including Elrond himself, had seconded the Elf-knight. Elven women in the middle and last months of their pregnancies were not permitted to ride alone either. The distracting presence of a growing child within could weaken the rapport of a rider with her mount and that could lead to an accident. Legolas had unhappily acquiesced, but made it quite clear to all that this latest hindrance was not at all to his liking. 

He had, however, overcome his earlier discomfort about going about in public. Met only with warmth and concern for his well being, he had been greatly heartened and he soon realized his fears of ridicule to be unfounded. Thus, his willingness to leave the shelter of Taur Galen or Artirion on occasion.

As he strolled with Gimli, he attracted a fair amount of attention from the various retainers, warriors and courtiers and ladies-in-waiting who made their way to and fro across the lush gardens. He was now compelled to don loose robes or tunics, not only to conceal the obvious evidence of his condition but also to allow for comfort and ease of movement. But he still moved with the disciplined grace of a warrior, born and raised. His limbs remained lean and limber and his countenance elegant and passing fair.

If anything, his features had become ever more comely. His fair tresses seemed even more silken than before. And as the sickness of the previous months thankfully dissipated, his pallor decreased and color came back to his sculpted cheeks.

But his temper had not improved very much. How could it when he stayed largely unreconciled to the oddity of his situation? He did try to rein in his mercurial moods but it was difficult at best and every now and then Elrohir would be seen to take refuge in his brother’s apartments until he deemed it safe to return to his home or the archer repentantly sent for him, whichever came first. 

Trips to the healing halls were marked by mutinous scowls and exasperated outbursts. He detested the prodding and questioning that came with each visit. Only Elrond could elicit adequate cooperation from him, aided no doubt by his position as law-father and imminent grandsire. 

In all these, he was readily pardoned. No one could blame the hapless archer for being irritable. Not only did he have to deal with the very unlikeliness of his situation, but also with the unknown and therefore terrifying changes in his body. It was enough to drive anyone to distraction.

Presently, he sauntered alongside Gimli, patiently awaiting the end of the twins’ and his law-mother’s call on their kin. As sometimes happened, he had of a sudden felt beset by stuffiness even within Finarfin’s airy halls. And so he had been duly and solicitously ushered to the breezy garden with Gimli offering to keep him company. 

He was dipping a slender hand into the cool waters of a fountain when he became aware of the perusal of others. Glancing about, he noticed a good many Elves watching him, some surreptitiously, others more openly. 

The females were eyeing him with admiration and empathy. They knew what he was going through and understood his apprehensions. And, of course, some of those who were mated to fellow members of the fairer sex could not help but regard him with some envy. They were glad for him that he would know the love of a child for its parent, but were also wistful that such a fate was not theirs.

Granted, there were a few isolated cases of Elf-maids, carelessly getting with child though they had no intention of wedding the sires of their babes. Childless Elves had been known to adopt the offspring of such ill-advised couplings or, if the mother or father eventually chose to bind to one of their own kind, raise the child with her or his chosen mate. But these cases were few and far in between. For the majority of same kind couples, children were not an option. Fortunately as well, most Elves who embarked on such espousals were not strongly inclined toward parenthood either and thus by and large were spared the melancholy of unfulfilled parenthood.

It was then that Legolas noted that while the majority of the Elf–males present shared the Elf-women’s sentiments, such was not the case with the rest. He felt his cheeks burn anew. Their gazes were patently salacious. The manner in which they raked his form with their eyes told the tale. With belated insight and shock, he realized his allure lay not only in his comeliness—of which there was still much in abundance despite his ungainly form—but also in the ability bestowed upon him to carry a child. They were imagining what it would be like to bed him _and_ bring him to childbed.

Legolas gritted his teeth in ire. His fists clenched. By Elbereth, were it not for his awkward situation, he would not hesitate to show these impudent knaves the perils of treating him thusly! He was a seasoned soldier and a prince of his people, not some fragile blossom ripe for anyone’s picking. He must have moved threateningly for Gimli suddenly clamped a restraining hand on his arm.

“Pay them no mind, Legolas,” the Dwarf counselled. “They are little more than dolts and can do you no harm.” 

Legolas pursed his mouth angrily. But then he suddenly relaxed and a wicked gleam lit his eyes. 

“Aye, that they cannot,” he agreed with a smirk. “But they had best watch their backs lest harm comes upon them!”

Even as he spoke, the leering Elves suddenly scattered in fright like chaff before a strong wind. The storm came in the form of a blackly glaring Elf-knight who had suddenly emerged from Finarfin’s halls and now strode rapidly towards his spouse.

Elves flew before him in hasty retreat, lowering their guilty eyes ere he should mark them for later accounting. None cared to have his ardor summarily quelled in the king’s fountains. Or worse. 

Gimli guffawed at the sight. “Had you told me back in Middle-earth how entertaining your kindred’s antics could be, I would have called you daft,” he chortled. “They do not look all that dignified now, do they?”

“We are not all of a piece,” Elrohir said as he came up to them. “Even the Eldar were not spared their share of fools.” 

He curled an arm around Legolas’s waist. “‘Tis fortunate I espied your plight from my foresire’s windows. Come, beloved, I would not have you or the babe come to harm.” At the kindling indignation in Legolas’s eyes, he soothingly added, “You are more than capable of laying a whole band of orcs low by yourself, Calenlass. But you will only enrage yourself should some idiot dare to sully you anew with his lecherous regard. That will do neither you nor our child any good.”

Legolas sighed and nodded, indignation abating. As they walked back to the great halls, he muttered, “I wish I could be done with this soonest! Why in Arda does it have to take so long?”

Gimli snickered suddenly. “Aye, that is exactly why women say what they do about their men-folk,” he said.

“What do they say?” Elrohir asked curiously.

“That Eru did not see fit to afflict men with the birthing of children because they have not the patience to await the completion of a babe!”

oOoOoOo

Elrohir awakened that night to find his mate sitting up in bed gazing into the dark. Alarmed, he sat up as well and looked at Legolas worriedly.

“Calenlass, are you all right?” he queried.

“Aye, I am well,” the archer said. “But I cannot sleep.”

“Why not? What is wrong?”

Embarrassed sapphire eyes turned to him. “I am hungry.”

Elrohir stared at him. “But you had a whole roast pheasant to yourself for dinner not to mention more than your share of bread and fruit!” he softly exclaimed.

When Legolas looked even more ashamed, he repented instantly and said more gently: “Forgive me, you are eating for the babe as well. Very well, what would you like me to fetch you?”

Now the prince’s cheeks turned crimson. “Um, one of Bilbo’s blueberry pies?”

Silence met this request. At length, Elrohir spoke. “Legolas, ‘tis the middle of the night,” he said in measured tones. “Surely you do not desire for me to go to Bilbo and rouse him from bed just to bake you a pie.”

Legolas bit his lip and shook his head. With a sigh, he lay down once more and turned over. But not quickly enough to hide his distress. Elrohir stared at him then sighed in turn. Knowing his spouse’s recent disposition, he would not be able to sleep a wink until he had satisfied this craving of his. And if Legolas could not sleep, neither would he. 

As he continued to gaze at his restless prince, his eyes softened with affection. At least, he comforted himself, the foods Legolas craved were never anything as bizarre as some of the yearnings he’d heard of from other suffering husbands in the past. And truth be told, the prince oft hid his predilections from his darkling mate, detesting as he did the prospect of becoming a walking cliché. Therefore in this Legolas had not troubled him overmuch. 

Resolved, he threw off the covers and slipped out of bed. Legolas turned over with a frown. He stared as his mate drew on breeches and a shirt. 

“Where are you going?” he asked anxiously. 

“To get Bilbo to bake you a pie,” Elrohir replied matter-of-factly. And then he was gone before Legolas could protest.

In later years, it would be fodder for a good Hobbit yarn, but tonight, Bilbo could not find the wherewithal to smile. Not when he was awakened from pleasant dreams and cajoled into the kitchen for the most improbable of chores. At midnight!

He groaned and moaned and muttered his displeasure as he labored under the watchful eye of Elrohir. Behind him, a sleepy but amused Frodo kept an eye on the wood-fired oven, waiting for it to reach the right temperature. And in a corner of the cozy kitchen, Gimli dozed in a chair after having helped stoke the oven. 

Still grumbling under his breath, Bilbo rolled the dough then lifted it with the rolling pin and flipped it into the waiting pie plate. He pricked the bottom a tad fiercely as he awaited the filling. 

A moment later, Sam came up to him and helpfully if yawningly said, “Here you are, Mr. Bilbo.” And he dumped the prepared blueberries into the crust. He hastily retreated before the baleful glare of the elder Hobbit.

Frodo chuckled and said consolingly, “Think of this as a service to Legolas. He was one of the Fellowship after all.”

“Well, I was not!” Bilbo retorted as he slashed vents into the top crust with more force than necessary. “Confounded Elves! I should have settled on Tol Eressëa. You’d need a boat to get to me before hauling me out of bed at this unholy hour!”

He shoved the pie into the oven then strode over to the chair opposite Gimli and plopped himself down to wait. “I should never have let anyone taste my pies!” he added with a scowl at his now laughing nephew and a grinning Sam. “Especially finicky Elves who ought to have more sense than to get with child!”

A hand on his shoulder bade him look up. Into Elrohir’s warm and grateful argent eyes.

“Thank you, dear Bilbo,” he softly said. “Legolas will be very pleased.”

Bilbo melted. The thought of the steadfast Elf-knight venturing into the dark to assuage his mate’s yearning promptly deflated his umbrage. How could one stay in a pique before such great-heartedness not to mention inimitable charm?

“Don’t mind me,” he mumbled, cheeks reddening before the Elf-lord’s admiring regard. “I’m just an old grouch.”

An hour later, Legolas raised shining eyes to his darkling spouse. They sat at the long table in the kitchen of Elrond’s house. Before them lay the almost empty pie plate. Elrohir could not quite believe his eyes. Never had he seen the prince so ravenous in all the years he had known him.

“Are you certain you aren’t eating for three?” he asked suspiciously.

Legolas shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “And neither does _Ada_ Elrond.”

Elrohir shook his head. “You would think that, after the surfeit of twins my family has produced, we would have learned to tell if a pair was in the offing by now.” He gazed at his beaming mate. “I trust you are satisfied?”

“Very,” Legolas smiled. He suddenly yawned. “And sleepy.” He regarded Elrohir with utmost gratitude and love. “Thank you, Aduial.”

Elrohir sighed with relief. “You’re very welcome. But do promise me something, _melethen_.”—my love.

“What?”

“That you will not get sick from this indulgence. Bilbo will never forgive us if he learns his pie didn’t stay put in your stomach!”

*************************  
Glossary:  
Cermië - Quenya for July  
Ada - Papa

_To be continued…_


	4. Interlude - The Eyes of the Beholder

Taur Galen, _Narquelië_  
Entering their bedchamber, Legolas at once regarded his mate with curiosity and just a shade of reproof. Elrohir was stretched out on their bed, quietly reading a book. Dressed in naught but bed-trousers, his sable hair loose about his shoulders, he was a most enticing vision. But though the very sight of the Elf-knight stirred him, Legolas firmly set aside his feelings. 

He skirted the bed, catching Elrohir’s eyes as he did. The warrior glanced at him impassively, noting the archer’s slight frown. He waited for Legolas to voice whatever it was that disturbed him. 

The prince drew out a towel and night-robe then headed for the bathing chamber. But ere he entered the adjacent room, he stopped and met the darkling Elf’s gaze. 

“ _Nana_ tells me you stuffed Girluin into the feed barrel by the stables,” he abruptly said. “Is this true?”

Elrohir simply nodded.

“And used the remnants of his painting of me to, er, adorn his person?”

Again, another nod. Legolas’s frown deepened. “Aduial, he has painted my family’s portraits for centuries uncounted,” he said. “How could you treat him with such disrespect?”

Elrohir’s eyes glittered perilously. “I can when he dares to use you so basely,” he retorted.

“Use me basely?” Legolas said bewilderment. “He did a portrait of me, Elrohir. As my Father wished. What is so base about that?”

“That he rendered you in all your naked splendor.”

Legolas gaped at him. “He what?”

“I came upon him leering at it,” Elrohir quietly explained. “He had painted your countenance, but below your neck he portrayed you in naught but your skin. And in graphic detail at that.”

Legolas gasped. “But I never posed for him thusly!” he exclaimed.

Elrohir nodded. “I know you did not else you would have heard of my displeasure afore this,” he said. “He resorted to his imagination, no doubt aided by what little he had seen of you in all his years of service to your family.”

Legolas stared at the warrior in mounting anger. At length, he pursed his mouth grimly and said, “I take back what I said, Aduial. Indeed, you were kind to merely adorn him with his work. Would that you had stuffed it down his throat!”

With that, the prince entered the bathing chamber. Elrohir smiled faintly and went back to his book. But he hardly read a word as he awaited his spouse’s return.

A scant half hour later, Legolas emerged from the other room. Clad in his loose robe, his fair locks damp and streaming down his back like gold silk, he again skirted the bed and headed for the writing desk. Elrohir watched him intently as he sat at the table and began to sort out various missives. Elrohir’s gaze did not waver but only intensified.

It did not take long for Legolas to feel the heat of his mate’s scrutiny. He lifted his eyes from the letter he was reading and turned to look at the twin. A quiver snaked through his limbs at the other’s unrelenting stare.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he finally asked.

Elrohir’s smile held no humor in it. “I was pondering my situation,” he remarked. “I have the wondrous fortune to be wed to one of the fairest Elves in Eldamar; so fair that even so august an artist as Girluin could not stay his need to feed his lust for him. Yet this fair Elf will not let me so much as touch him. I would like to know _why_.” 

The threatening undertones in Elrohir’s statement elicited a sharp inhalation from Legolas. The archer bit his lip then bravely turned in his seat to face his mate.

“I am grown big as Gondor’s largest warship,” Legolas murmured. “How can you think me fair?”

Elrohir lifted one elegant eyebrow. “Legolas, you would still be the fairest Elf alive even were you as huge as the fleets of Gondor and Harad combined,” he declared. He patted the bed beside him in tacit invitation.

Legolas took another deep breath and did as he was bid. Despite his self-belittlement, he was indeed beyond passing fair. His skin glowed from within giving him an incandescent beauty that was breathtaking to behold. Though his torso was no longer lissome but now rotund from the continued growth of the child within, he did not seem so much swollen as ripe as a rosy peach. But it seemed he did not recognize this as was evinced by his responses to Elrohir’s overtures.

He sat down hesitantly by his mate; flinched slightly when Elrohir pulled him close. And when the Elf-knight untied his sash allowing his robe to fall open, he turned his face away, his cheeks staining with color.

Elrohir studied him wonderingly. “What is wrong, Legolas?” When the archer only shook his head, the twin drew back with a sigh. “You do not want this,” he said softly. “Or is it that you do not want me?”

This suggestion had the effect of forcing Legolas to turn and face him at once. “Nay!” he protested. “I do want you. Indeed, I-I have been yearning for you these past many weeks.”

Elrohir gazed at him bemusedly. “Then why do you keep me at bay, Calenlass?” he queried. 

Legolas bit his lip then lowered his eyes to his belly. “You cannot possibly want me like this,” he whispered. “I am misshapen, Elrohir. Grotesque. How could you desire me?”

He felt a gentle hand slip under his chin and lift it until he met Elrohir’s argent eyes. “In the same way that all but the most foolish of men desire their women even when they are at their ripest,” he tenderly said. “The loveliness of an expectant woman is beyond compare. Indeed, ‘tis a pity that such beauty lasts but a brief season.” 

“That may be true for a woman,” Legolas said hesitantly. “But not for an _ellon_. No man was fashioned for this. ‘Tis not natural. How can you even bear to look at me?”

Ignoring the prince’s apprehensive start, Elrohir reached up and drew the robe from his shoulders and down his arms, smiling at the deepening color in the prince’s cheeks. “Do not doubt your allure, _melethron_ ”—lover—he murmured huskily. “You have it in abundance. Or have you not yet realized how beauteous you are? How irresistible you can be. Not only in my eyes but in the eyes of many others as well.”

The archer shook his head. “That is not true of all,” he murmured. “Last we were in Alqualondë, there were those who thought me a strange sight. I saw the amusement in their eyes. As I did in the eyes of some Elves in Tirion.”

Elrohir snorted with ire. “Then they are blind,” he stated icily. “As much in their minds as their vision.” His voice warmed once more. “You were one of the comeliest Elves to grace Middle-earth. So perilously beautiful that mortals desired you but feared to approach you. That has not changed, _inden_.”—my heart. “You are still the closest thing to perfection I have ever known.”

Legolas had a moment to savor his mate’s praise before he was gently but firmly borne down upon the bed. He swallowed nervously. “Are you certain?” he asked in a tremulous voice.

“More than certain,” Elrohir crooned. His fingertips ghosted over the taut skin of the archer’s distended belly. “There is none more beautiful than any creature that carries life and nurtures it. I envy our child, Legolas, that he can lie safe and warm within you. Would that I could crawl into you and know such bliss.” 

Legolas’s eyes widened at this tender utterance. And then he gasped as he felt a distinct kick from within. Directly beneath Elrohir’s hand. Legolas looked at his spouse and saw the expression of complete delight and awe on his handsome face. 

“It seems our child agrees with the rightness of our love, Calenlass. With our loving.” Elrohir leaned down and dropped several kisses on the prince’s abdomen. Legolas watched him in some astonishment. 

Grey eyes lifted to gaze at him. The archer caught his breath. The lust in the twilight pools had not abated one whit but had deepened even further. And when Elrohir shed his trousers and revealed a formidable arousal, Legolas let go of some of his uncertainty. For the first time in weeks, he began to believe that he was not after all what he had thought. He was beautiful in Elrohir’s eyes. That was all that mattered.

He moaned softly as the Elf-knight caught his lips in a searing caress. In all their years together, one thing had not changed. Elrohir’s kisses were as potent as when he had first known them. He closed his eyes and let himself drown in the sensations of his mate’s sensual attentions.

His lips were quite swollen by the time Elrohir released them to explore the white column of his sleek neck, marking the pale flesh with scarlet bruises. He gasped as his nipples were suckled; they felt more sensitive than of yore and were plumper as well. Was it any wonder that Elrohir played with them far longer than he used to? And then the warrior was following the arcing line of his belly, his hands mapping its slopes, his tongue teasing his navel. 

Legolas could not help tensing as the Elf-knight disappeared from his line of sight, his dark head lowering between his outspread thighs. But in the next instant, all thought abruptly vanished as he was engulfed in moist and heady warmth.

Elrohir drew on him steadily, voraciously, as if milking him of all that he had withheld for so many weeks. It was too much for Legolas to bear. The pleasurable tension pooled in his groin inexorably until finally, he cried out his release and his relief and spent himself explosively in the Elf-knight’s demanding mouth.

He fell back, panting hard at so intense a climax. When he felt Elrohir’s arms slip around him to enfold his body, he readily turned, pressing his mouth needfully against the warrior’s lips. He had denied himself this pleasure out of fear of his undesirability to his mate. But assured most heartily of Elrohir’s never waning lust for him, he now sought what he yearned for and a yearning of such forcefulness as he had not known before. Given free rein it consumed him beyond endurance. 

Elrohir felt his hunger and fed it with alacrity. Soon, Legolas was shuddering against him and his kisses had turned almost desperate with want. Elrohir drew away slightly to look at his charmingly flushed prince.

“I need you,” Legolas whispered, blue eyes so dilated they seemed almost black.

“As I need you,” Elrohir crooned softly, scattering kisses on the porcelain fair countenance.

“But how—?” Legolas implored. “This bulk of mine—”

Elrohir cut off his anxious words with a kiss. He stroked the archer’s fine cheekbone soothingly. “I trafficked with whores and faithless wives in Middle-earth during my benighted youth,” he reminded the prince. “Even when they were great with child. Trust me, my love, there are ways to get around this problem.” 

Even as he spoke, he placed a pillow beneath the other Elf’s belly to support its weight, mindful as always of Legolas’s comfort. He slipped behind his mate then pulled him back into the slight curve of his body that he might rest against his tall frame.

Legolas sighed as his hair was pushed aside then caught his breath as kisses were pressed against his nape and the back of his shoulders. Instinctively pushing against the Elf-knight, he soon felt the evidence of his spouse’s desire for him against his backside. 

“Please, Elrohir,” he softly implored. The warrior acceded to his desire.

He groaned as he was filled, gasped raggedly as he was repeatedly breached. Elrohir reached around him and curled his hand around the prince’s once again aching shaft.

“Have my loving, Calenlass,” he whispered hoarsely. “Have my love.”

Nearing the summit of his forbearance, sobbing in sheer rapture, Legolas turned his head, begging for his lips to be pillaged anew by the twin. His mute request was swiftly answered and he lost himself wholly to the mounting sensations of their imminent completion. 

It came with all the force of a gale. Elrohir gasped out his golden prince’s name as he spilled himself within his fair form even as Legolas expended his seed upon his stroking hand. They lay thus for several heartbeats as they waited out the last sweeps of their spent desire. 

Elrohir carefully helped Legolas lie back before gathering him close in his arms. The archer snuggled in his embrace ere lifting a grateful if slightly puzzled countenance to him.

“Elrohir? Why is it that the connection between us seems muted?” he asked. “It has been so since I conceived.”

Elrohir smiled and pushed an errant lock of gold silk from the prince’s cheek. “‘Tis only to protect our child,” he explained. “The strength of our passion would overwhelm the babe within you and so it has been dulled for the duration of your term.” 

A slight frown marred the prince’s smooth temple. “Will it be restored?” he asked vexedly. “I miss the oneness it bestows upon us, Aduial.”

Elrohir smiled. “It will be restored once you birth our child. ‘Tis the way of our kindred, _meleth_.”—love.

Legolas relaxed at this assurance and settled further into the twin’s embrace. Whatever doubts he had harbored about Elrohir’s regard for him had been all but vanquished. By his Elf-knight’s peerless loving and the love that made it so. 

*************************  
Glossary:  
Narquelië - Quenya for October  
Nana - Mama

_To be continued…_


	5. Third Act - The Perils of Parenthood

Taur Galen, _Narvinyë_  
Legolas moaned as the ache in his muscles made itself well known and deeply felt. Not all the battles he had ever fought nor all the mishaps he’d ever suffered had produced the discomfort he now endured. 

It had been a madcap day and a half. He’d awakened to the onset of labor and the painful pressure of that inexorable descent into what would have been the birth canal in a female. But no such passage existed in his body and that had terrified him as no evil out of Mordor ever had. Just as alarmed, Elrohir had raced to the royal pavilion to fetch Elrond. The Artirion Lord and his wife had come to Taur Galen in the last two weeks of the archer’s term and kept a keen eye on him ever since. If the Powers did not intervene, Elrond had long decided he would have to resort to surgery to deliver the child. 

But the Powers had intervened and Legolas had suffered the terror of labor and birth, a terror he had never felt in all his days as a warrior, in the presence of the Valier, Elbereth and Yavanna, and the Maia, Melian, who herself was Elrohir’s foremother. And their intervention had been necessary for a safe delivery. After all, the whole event was far beyond the bounds of what was conventional and therefore required unconventional assistance. 

He had vague memories of a sharp pain, swift as a knife wound, blossoming in the vicinity of his lower abdomen under Elbereth’s crystalline eyes. Of Yavanna’s soothing palm on his fevered brow, easing his understandable fear. And Melian’s gentle hands reaching into his body, how he had no clear idea—he would have to question Elrohir later about it—then hearing in some amazement the first cry of life. He would never forget the look of awe and joy on Elrohir’s face in that moment. And then, the pain had given way to a steady ache as Elbereth had tenderly closed the newly created birth passage. Afterwards, he had slept soundly, sore and exhausted.

Now he lay, half reclined in bed, feeling uneasy about his singular role as both father and birth-giver. He had threatened anyone and everyone with eternal retribution should they take it into their heads to call him a mother. Someone—was it Erestor?—had suggested that he simply be called _Odhron_ or male begetter. 

That was not a bad idea, he mused. It would certainly help distinguish him from Elrohir who could bear the more traditional _Adar_.—Father. Although he supposed they would both be plain _Ada_ , or Papa, when they were alone with their progeny. Both of them.

For the much-anticipated babe turned out to be one of a pair. The Peredhil legacy had struck again. 

Both were strong and healthy _ellyn_ —one with the silky raven locks of Elrohir and the sapphire gaze of Legolas, the other with the archer’s silver-gold tresses and the Elf-knight’s twilight eyes. They were as beautiful as one could hope for; in them their parents’ individual perfections blended flawlessly. Legolas had felt much of his initial misgivings fade away when he held his sons for the first time. He had realized with a stab of pleasure and happiness that for these children, everything had been worth it. 

He watched as his mother and Celebrían cooed over the infants, their faces alight with pride and delight in their newest grandchildren. As for his father—Thranduil feigned nonchalance about the twin, but could not keep himself from frequently peering at them. In this he competed with Elrond and Legolas could not help grinning at the sight of the two dignified Elves jockeying for the best position from which to view their shared grandsons.

“I am glad you are smiling again.”

Legolas glanced up at Elrohir. He had the grace to look a little guilty. He had not exactly been the best companion these past months, upset as he had been over his condition. Through it all, Elrohir had remained the soul of patience and understanding. 

“I am sorry for venting my frustration on you,” he apologized. 

“Nay, ‘twas to be expected,” Elrohir quietly said. “After all, I am to blame for having wished for something so outlandish.”

“You call our sons outlandish?” Legolas bristled somewhat.

Elrohir had to chuckle at the other’s renewed spirit. “Not them, Calenlass, but the means by which their coming to us was accomplished.” 

Legolas could not argue with that. He glanced at the door as Elladan and Nimeithel walked in with their twins and Frodo. The Hobbit’s eyes were twinkling. “You have some visitors who claim to be friends of a cousin of the spouse of one of the counsellors of King Ingwë,” he recited with an impish grin. “Shall I let them in?”

“Have pity, my dear Frodo!” Legolas groaned. “I cannot face yet another pack of curious Elves!”

Frodo chuckled and said, “I will tell them to return tomorrow then. Or next week perhaps?” he added at the Elf’s baleful glare. Getting a resigned nod, he snickered and departed on his mission.

Legolas sighed. Visitors had been streaming to Taur Galen since that morning. Every Elf with a claim to any kind of connection with his or Elrohir’s family had come trooping to take a look at the newborn babes and Legolas himself. Both Finarfin and Olwë, Lords of the Noldor and Teleri respectively, had shown up first thing after the birth and Ingwë, High King of the Elves of Eldamar, had soon followed. 

He could not blame them of course. What had happened was a miracle of unprecedented magnitude in the Undying Lands. 

He looked up to see his father and Elrond approach.

“Have you decided on names?” Thranduil asked.

Legolas nodded, glanced at a beaming Elrohir, and said: “We wish to call them Eledhmîr and Mîranor.”

Elrond smiled gently in approval. “They are indeed treasures,” he said softly. 

Just then, Ithilwen came forward with one of the babes. “’Tis good that you decided on their names. But for now Mîranor is in need of nourishment, Legolas,” she told him. “And while there are wet nurses aplenty and willing to be of service to you, I believe that what you have to offer is still best for him.”

Legolas stared at her, stupefied. “Offer him what?” he asked blankly.

“Why, milk of course.”

The bafflement increased. “But I don’t have—” He suddenly gasped in horror. “Do I?”

“Yes, dearest. Elrond examined you while you were asleep and has confirmed that you do.” Ithilwen slipped the infant into her son’s arms. 

“Why?” he almost wailed causing Elendir and Elros to break into convulsions of mirth. 

“Now, _ion nîn_ , you can hardly think that the Powers would give you this miracle without providing for its sustenance,” the queen cooed. “You must accept this as a blessing and a gift from them.”

She was about to part his robe when he snapped his head up and noticed his father, Elrond, Elladan and the twins watching with ill-disguised curiosity. “You do not have to watch!” he growled.

Celebrían smiled in sympathy for the beleaguered prince. After laying a peacefully sleeping Eledhmîr beside Legolas, she slipped between her husband and Thranduil and linked arms with them. With a wink and a nod at a chortling Nimeithel, she said: “Come, let us give Legolas a little peace. Elladan, Elros, Elendir, that includes all three of you!” She insistently led them all out.

Bright red with embarrassment, Legolas glared at Elrohir who reluctantly turned away and sat down at the nearby writing desk. Only then did he allow his mother to part his robe and help him with the understandably alien task of nursing Mîranor. He yelped when the child clamped down hard causing Ithilwen to giggle and Elrohir to jump up in alarm. Mîranor ignored them all and began to suck hungrily.

Elrohir had turned away again when he saw all was well but after glimpsing Legolas with the golden-haired babe at his chest, he found he could not resist looking once more. He wordlessly watched, hoping the prince would not notice and demand he avert his eyes. He thought he had never seen a more wondrous sight.

Legolas eventually did sense his scrutiny and glanced up. Seeing Elrohir’s rapt gaze, he flushed again and nearly asked the other to look elsewhere but a tap on his arm by his mother distracted him. 

Smiling, she rose and said, “I think you can manage by yourself for now. I must see to my other duties. Do not worry, I will come back as soon as possible. And besides, you have Elrohir with you should you need anything.”

After she left the room, Elrohir hesitantly stood up and came to the bed. He quietly took a seat at its edge next to Legolas. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Legolas pouted. “Aside from feeling more embarrassed than I have ever been in three millennia, I suppose I am,” he muttered.

Elrohir smiled sympathetically. “He is greedy,” he said, eyeing their son speculatively.

“Aye.” Legolas blew out his breath. “By Elbereth, I will never again think that females have the easier lot.”

Elrohir chuckled. “I envy our sons,” he suddenly said.

“Why?” Legolas asked in surprise.

“Because they get to take suck from you.”

Legolas flushed. “Really, the things you think of!” he commented somewhat caustically. He regarded his mate questioningly. “You never told me you wanted children so badly as to make such a wish.”

“But I did not,” Elrohir replied. “Once I loved you I knew myself content with Elladan and Arwen’s children. I made that wish for your sake.”

Legolas was astonished. “My sake?”

“Aye. I knew that if there was one thing you regretted about binding to another _ellon_ it was that you could not have children of your own. I saw how you came to regard Brethildor’s children and the twins,” Elrohir answered quietly. “Though had I known the Powers would grant it I would have offered to carry our babes in your stead. I never meant to cause you any suffering, Calenlass.”

Legolas stared mutely at him for a spell. Then his eyes softened. “I know you did not,” he said. “But, mind you, should the Valar choose to bless us once more, I will verily demand that you carry the next babe.” 

“I will not protest,” Elrohir grinned. “I will only ask that he has your beauty again.“ His grin widened at Legolas’s charming blush. 

“Or she,” the archer suddenly said.

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “She?”

“Aye,” Legolas said. His eyes danced wickedly at Elrohir’s slight look of consternation. “If the Valar are in the mood to grant our wishes, then that is what I would ask of them. That you get with a maid-child as feisty as yourself. I can just imagine you, defending her virtue against all comers. That should be a sight to behold!”

He laughed as Elrohir gulped then shook his head. Much appeased by the thought of his mate in such straits, he turned his attention back to Mîranor. The babe had slowed down in his suckling.

When his son’s feeding ceased, Elrohir inquired: “Is he asleep?”

“Almost.” 

As Elrohir watched with amusement, Legolas lifted the infant to his shoulder with practiced ease and gently stroked its back. Within minutes, the babe let out air then settled happily against his parent’s neck. 

“All your practice on me seems to have paid off,” the dark-haired Elf snickered earning a mild glare from the other. 

Legolas turned and lay Mîranor down beside Eledhmîr. He gazed at the children, still amazed that the miracle had happened. Of a sudden, he felt his love for his sons rush through his very veins and he smiled. He heard Elrohir’s sharp intake of air and glanced up wonderingly. His Elf-knight was staring at him as if mesmerized. 

“Elrohir?”

Elrohir let his breath out. “You are breathtaking,” he murmured. “No matter how many times I look at you it always feels like the first time I realized I wanted you.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss upon Legolas’s lips. Startled, Legolas reflexively flinched but Elrohir swiftly slipped his hand behind his neck and held him close. Legolas forgot all his distractions and worries as the familiar thrill coursed through his body.

The collective clearing of several throats alerted them to the presence of others and they broke apart quickly. Face flaming, Legolas could not quite look up but, unperturbed, Elrohir turned to see who the intruders were. He grinned in delight when he beheld Galadriel and Celeborn. His and Legolas’s fathers took up the rear along with Gandalf and Gimli.

After exchanging greetings with the Lord and Lady of Maltaurë, the Istar and their Dwarf friend, Legolas moved slightly to allow them to view the babes.

Celeborn laughed softly as he gazed at Eledhmîr. “I see this one has taken after you, _gwanneth_.”—younger twin. “Mayhap he will also be a plague to you as you have been to your long-suffering father.” Behind him, Elrond made a sound that was half snigger and half groan.

Elrohir opened his mouth to protest in indignation when Eledhmîr sleepily opened his eyes, roused by the sounds of their voices. The blue pools widened when he saw the golden couple before him. Galadriel smiled merrily. “But look at his eyes, _hervenn nín_.”—my husband. “Do you not recognize them? There is no mistaking that he is also the son of our prince of Taur Galen.”

A moment later, Mîranor lifted one sleepy eyelid long enough to reveal the argent hue of his eyes. Galadriel cooed indulgingly. “But this one is truly Legolas’s child,” she smiled. She glanced at Thranduil. “If not for the color of his eyes, I would say he is the very image of your son, Thranduil.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes and said, “So long as he remains only in his image!”

“I would say the same for my son,” Elrond added dryly. 

Laughter greeted the two grandfathers’ distress.

Elrohir looked up at Gandalf. “Mithrandir? I do not understand why my wish was granted. ‘Tis very odd indeed.”

“A reward you might say,” Gandalf smiled, “for your part in the struggle against evil in Middle-earth and your willingness to fight and suffer for your love.”

Legolas stirred. “But why _his_ wish?” he murmured. “Why did they favor us with its granting when there are others as deserving of a reward; mayhap even more?” 

“Even I do not always know what the Valar intend,” Gandalf replied with a twinkle. “But I can say this much with confidence. They have a soft spot for the children of Lúthien’s line. Witness your early release from the Halls of Awaiting, Elrohir. ‘Twas only your foremother who ever moved Námo to tears after all.”

The twinkle in his eyes brightened as he regarded Legolas once more. “But you are right, of course, that there are others equally deserving of their just reward. Indeed, I am pleased to tell you that I am lately come from the Ring of Doom where I bore witness to a most fascinating request laid before Manwë and Varda.”

“What request is this?” Galadriel said inquiringly.

“A request to be likewise blessed as Elrohir and Legolas.”

There was a concerted gasp in the room. Gandalf’s smile widened, proof that he was enjoying himself immensely.

“And who would be crazy enough to ask for _that_?” Gimli demanded incredulously.

“Glorfindel and Erestor.”

The gasps were now punctuated with exclamations of astonishment.

“Are you certain of this?” Celeborn queried in shock.

“Did I not say I just bore witness to their petition?” The wizard glanced at Legolas, beaming broadly. “Erestor has offered to carry the child.”

Legolas gaped at him a moment before finding his tongue. “He must be mad!” he cried. “He has no idea what it entails!”

“On the contrary, he does,” Gandalf chuckled. “Which is why he insisted on taking the role. He pointed out, quite logically I must say, that Glorfindel is ill-suited for such a task.”

Elrond eyed him suspiciously. “You speak as if ‘tis certain,” he said slowly, not quite able to bring himself to believe it. 

The Istar’s grin was, Elrond would have sworn, quite smug. “Glorfindel protected your father, Eärendil, with valor and honor even unto death at the Fall of Gondolin,” he said, “and went on to valiantly serve your house in his second life. The Valar saw fit to reward him for a job well done as Bilbo might put it.” The corner of his eyes crinkled with delight as he announced: “Come this time next year, expect another Elfling to liven up your household, Master Elrond.”

This time deafening silence greeted his words. Everyone was simply too stunned to even think, let alone speak. It was Gimli who finally broke the quiet.

“Is it too late for me to return to Middle-earth?” he growled. 

His exasperated riposte snapped the others out of their fugues and elicited a few smiles as well. 

Thranduil shook his head dazedly and murmured, “Elbereth help us all.”

“She just did, _Ada_ ,” Legolas reminded his father. 

“Again,” Elrohir added unnecessarily.

The woodland king’s glower effectively quelled any further comments.

Galadriel smiled and placed a comforting hand on Thranduil’s arm. “The Blessed Realm is as full of surprises as the Hinter Lands, _aran_ Taur Galen”—king of Greenwood—she remarked humorously. “We shall not fade from tedium, Thranduil.”

“Perhaps, but we may well be the first Elves ever to expire from excess excitement,” Thranduil dryly responded. 

After the laughter died down, Celeborn placed a hand on Elrohir’s shoulder and looked at Legolas. “Have either of you given thought to what this will mean to your binding?” At their puzzled reactions, he said, “Surely you realize that with the births of Eledhmîr and Mîránor, you are now bound in your sons as well as in blood.” Their stunned expressions gave him the answer and he chuckled, “Nay, I see you have not.” He exchanged amused looks with the others. A most wicked gleam appeared in his eyes as he addressed his younger grandson. “Expect to reach another peak in your joinings, _gwanneth_. And pray you and Legolas can survive it!” 

Later, after all the visitors had left, and Eledhmîr fed as well, Elrohir tenderly laid his sons in their shared cradle then slipped into bed beside his mate. He remembered his grandsire’s words and settled down with a patently anticipatory grin. Legolas glanced at him suspiciously.

“What?” 

“I was just thinking ‘tis a pity you are not yet fully recovered.”

Legolas snorted and shook his head. “You are hopeless.” 

“Mayhap but I seem to be blessed with much foresight. What I predicted twice has come true.”

“And that was?”

“That you would be mine.”

Legolas smiled. “Aye, you did say that. And very smugly, too, both times.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Nay, I am too happy right now to complain about anything.”

“Then you no longer hold my wish against me?”

Legolas sighed. “I should never have treated you that way,” he said. “Tell me, Aduial, how can I make it up to you?” 

“I am not an unreasonable Elf, Calenlass _nîn_ ,” Elrohir smiled, leaning over to kiss his golden-haired spouse. Legolas barely stifled a moan of pleasure as Elrohir deepened the caress. And he did not mind it when the other’s hands parted his robe. Full intimacy was not possible for now but the closeness of touching was most welcome. 

He started though when Elrohir suddenly caressed him in a most unexpected place. He pulled away and saw the other was grinning wickedly. His eyes widened.

“However, I am a hungry one.” 

Legolas yelped as the Elf-knight suddenly swooped down and took one milk-filled bud into his mouth.

“ _Elrohir!_ ” 

*************************  
Glossary:  
Narvinyë – Quenya for January  
ellon – male Elf  
îon nîn – my son  
Calenlass nîn – my Greenleaf

_To be concluded…_


	6. Curtain Call - Forever Lovers

Eldamar, _Viressë_ F.A. 236  
The infants lay fast asleep in their cradles, sated with milk and their parents’ love.

Upon the wide bed, glowing sable poured over gleaming gold before sinking into its silken depths. A gasping groan punctuated the near silence. Lips met and mouths melded in a sensuous duel. Emotions and thoughts and exquisitely heightened sensation flowed fiercely and freely as rapture spiraled to peaks never reached before. 

The shining Elf trembled as his darkling spouse trailed deceptively languid kisses along his jaw, down his throat and onto his chest. A wicked tongue licked the roseate nipples, still plump with the slumbering babes’ sweet sustenance. 

“Must you?”

Anticipation rather than resistance limned the whispered query. An affectionate chuckle preceded the huskily voiced answer.

“Aye, while it lasts.”

Legolas moaned, almost keened, when Elrohir fastened his mouth to one ripe bud and drew lustfully upon it. Filling himself even as he filled his eternal mate.

And the infants slept on, blissfully oblivious of their parents’ blissful loving.

************************  
Glossary:  
Viressë - Quenya for April

_**Finis** _


End file.
